


Mortal Kings

by OneNightStands



Category: Septiplier - Fandom, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Blood, Crazy, Dark, Darkiplier - Freeform, M/M, NSFW, Oneshot, Rough Sex, Violence, antisepticeye, wilford warfstache - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 17:19:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7582975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneNightStands/pseuds/OneNightStands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack looked away, unwilling to admit that he was enjoying seeing Mark like this. He’d had a crush on his fellow Youtuber for awhile and even with the situation as messed up as it was, he couldn’t help but blush at the sight of him shirtless.</p>
<p>“You’re enjoying the view aren’t you?”</p>
<p>It was as if Wilford could read his mind. “No. I could never.”</p>
<p>Wilford tsked and pressed the knife into Jack’s side, pushing with just enough pressure to break the skin but not to sink it in all the way. “You’re a naughty little bruise, aren’t you?"</p>
<p>Jack catches Mark in some unsightly positions. Not what you think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Candy, Gin, & Icecream

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little practice one shot! I haven't written in quite a while, I know I'm the worst™

Mark’s hair was the color of cotton candy, soft and pink. He ran his fingers through it, grimacing. It was meant to be a gag, a joke(a gift) for the fans but now, struggling to keep control, all he felt was regret.

_You know, you’re the one making this so difficult. It really doesn’t have to be._

His grip on the bathroom counter tightened. Staring at himself in the mirror, he frowned deeply. He had tried ignoring the voice in his head but it was desperately clawing for control. Mark could no longer ignore it.

_Come on, let me out. I wanna play._

Mark could hear Jack in the other room, shouting some sort of profanity at whatever game he was playing.

_I won’t hurt him, promise._

Jack was visiting for the week and Mark had done his best to keep things pleasant for him. Whenever the Irishman visited, Mark put on his best face.

_You know what I think? I think you’re worried you’d enjoy it too much._

For a long time, Mark had felt the same urges. A quiet need that couldn’t even be whispered around behind closed doors. Over time, as he repressed these feelings further down, they began to manifest into something else entirely.

Why, of all colors, had he chosen pink?

_I’m so tired of asking. I was just trying to be polite._

“No…” Mark whispered to himself, staring hard into the mirror.

Then he blacked out.

 

 

Jack was snuggled into Mark’s couch, doing his best not to scream to loudly. The game he was playing was getting to him and eventually he tossed the controller aside. 

He heard a dull thump from the bathroom.

“Mark?” He called out, concerned and slowly getting up from the couch. When he got no reply, he rushed over to the bathroom. “Are you okay?”

He hesitantly opened the bathroom door, worry overriding any self preservation or notion of privacy. Jack froze at what he saw.

Mark was crouched on the floor, smiling at him.

Terror wrapped around Jack’s heart at the inhumane way Mark stared at him, unblinking. His eyes appeared almost pink and they never broke Jack’s gaze. A shiver went down his spine.

“M...mark?” The Irishman stuttered out, slowly backing away from the bathroom.

“Not quite.” Not-Quite Mark lunged at Jack, knocking him over and pinning him to the ground. “Name’s Wilford Warfstache, and we’re gonna play.”

The last thing Jack saw was Mark’s bright white smile before a sharp pain in his skull knocked him out.

 

When Jack awoke, he felt a blinding pain in his skull. He tried to touch the wound on his head, but restraints around his arm bound him. 

He opened his eyes slowly, surprised to find that he was still in Mark’s home. His wrists were cuffed and his arms stretched out. He tugged on the restraints and found that they gave very little remorse.

Jack tried to call out for help but found himself struggling for the words. The pain in his head making it hard to concentrate. He’d never been knocked out before and felt a surprising pang of empathy for professional fighters.

“Well, ladies, gentleman, and every configuration of being, look who's finally awake.”

Jack squinted towards the door, his vision going blurry as he moved his head. In the doorway stood Mark, if Mark had an almost cartoonish looking pink mustache and bright pink eyes.

“W..w..wh..”

Mark clapped his hands together and smiled broadly. “Who? My dear, are you asking who? Perhaps, what?”

Mark giggled and walked closer to Jack. If he hadn’t such a severe pain in his head, he’d try and pull away, instead all he could manage was a pained moan.

“Why jackaboy, my name is Wilford Warfstache. You should have heard of me of course,” Wilford sat on the bed next to Jack and cocked his head, like a cat listening to something. “Of course, who hasn’t?”

Jack could barely comprehend what was happening. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out reality. It must be a dream.

_It’s not a dream._

Jack ignored his subconscious and squeezed his eyes tighter. There was no Wilford Warfstache, that was just a made up character that Mark used. He wasn’t real, he couldn’t be.

_Trust me, he’s real. We should know._

Jack opened his eyes once more, and yelped when he saw that Wilford’s face was mere inches from his own.

“Come on, Jack. I want to play.” Wilford was straddling Jack’s hips now, running his hands up and down Jack’s chest.

“No,” Jack bucked his hips, his strength slowly returning to him. “What happened to Mark?!”

Wilford licked his lips and leaned in further, almost touching Jack’s lips with his own. “Mark’s right here, love. Locked away, of course. He’s here though, watching and enjoying every minute of this.”

Jack tried to turn his head away, but Wilford gripped his chin hard.

“Don’t pull away from me. This will be easier if you just relax.” Wilford’s hand left Jack’s chin and slowly ran down the sides of his body, making Jack shiver.

“Please, don’t. I don’t want this.”

A blinding pain erupted in Jack’s side and he screamed, tears streamed down his face.

“No.” Wilford said, as though reprimanding a child. He then slowly pulled the small knife out of Jack’s side; blood slick on the blade. He then stabbed Jack again, this time lower on his side, careful to avoid any major arteries or organs. “No.”

Jack screamed again and tried to pull away from Wilford once more. “Please! Please stop!”

“But why? We’re having so much **fun**!” He punctuated the word fun with another stab.

“I’ll be good! Please just stop!” Jack watched helplessly as Wilford considered it for a moment before removing the knife and driving it in one more time.

“That’s just for good luck!” He yelled, giddily over Jack’s screams.

Jack began to feel dizzy once more at the sight of the blood seeping through his shirt. He could barely mumble, “You’re going to kill me.”

“Oh, no no, I would _never._ ” Wilford winked, like he had a juicy scandalous secret to share with Jack.

Wilford then began to cut at parts of Jack’s shirt, revealing his chest and stomach.

_Maybe we should play with him._

Jack ignored his inner voice once more, and watched in resignation as Wilford cut away the last bits of his shirt. With his chest now exposed, Jack couldn’t help but blush at the way Wilford touched him. There was something surprisingly delicate in the way he traced his knife down Jack’s chest.

This time, when Wilford brought his face within inches of Jack’s, he didn’t flinch. Instead, he simply closed his eyes. He felt Wilford press his lips against his; the kiss was soft and sweet. By the time Wilford pulled back, Jack was almost completely relaxed. With some miracle, he no longer felt the stab wounds or the pain in his head.

_You’re welcome._

Jack watched patiently as Wilford removed his own shirt, a yellow collared button up that Mark had not been wearing earlier.

“I told you, you’d have fun!” Everything Wilford said was filled with a mixture of giddiness and self-confidence unlike anything Jack had heard before. He sounded insane.

Jack looked away, unwilling to admit that he was enjoying seeing Mark like this. He’d had a crush on his fellow Youtuber for awhile and even with the situation as messed up as it was, he couldn’t help but blush at the sight of him shirtless.

“You’re enjoying the view aren’t you?”

It was as if Wilford could read his mind. “No. I could never.”

Wilford _tsked_ and pressed the knife into Jack’s side, pushing with just enough pressure to break the skin but not to sink it in all the way. “You’re a naughty little bruise, aren’t you?"

Jack flinched away from the knife and regained his silence. Opting to ignore Wilford rather than give him the reaction Jack was sure he wanted.

Wilford reached up and ran a hand through Jack’s bright green hair. “You know, if there’s one thing I hate more than anything,” He grabbed Jack’s hair tightly and yanked his head back. “it’s being ignored.”

He leaned in and ran his teeth over Jack’s jugular, eliciting a gasp from the Irishman.  

“My name...is Wilford Warfstache.” He whispered against Jack’s neck. “And _nobody_ ignores me.”

Wilford then bit down, hard. Jack cried out and tears began to fall once more. After releasing Jack’s neck, Wilford move up to his cheeks and licked away a stream of tears.

“Don’t cry baby boy. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

His hands then made their way down Jack’s body to his trousers. He began to expertly undo the buttons.

“Don’t…” Jack’s voice was weak; unconvincing, even to himself. Despite the torture that Wilford had inflicted on him so far, he couldn’t deny the tightness in his trousers. This time, his assailant didn’t respond, seemingly transfixed on removing Jack’s trousers.

When the button was undone, Wilford slowly slipped Jack’s trousers down, along with his boxers. Jack blushed fiercely as his semi-hard cock was revealed from beneath the fabric; for a moment, he thought he might start crying again.

Wilford licked his lips and giggled, moving so that he was laying between Jack’s legs. “My, my Jackaboy, what a dirty little secret you’ve been hiding from me.” He paused to look Jack in the eyes as his hand wrapped around Jack’s firm cock. “Well...maybe I shouldn’t say little.”

He slowly began to run his hand up and down Jack’s cock, his touch soft enough to not be painful from the friction. Jack couldn’t help but moan softly as Wilford increased his speed. When Jack was almost fully hard, without warning, Wilford began to suck on the head of Jack’s dick.

Jack gasped, bucking his hips as he did.

Wilford’s tongue massaged Jack’s most sensitive areas, causing him to involuntarily shudder and twitch. However, just as suddenly it began, it was over and Wilford was once again kissing Jack.

“Isn’t it fun to play?” He murmured against Jack’s lips.

_Jack, you’re dying._

Jack had no choice but to believe the voice in his head, as his vision went blurry. With all the blood he had left rushing through his body, he couldn’t quite think straight. Each stab wound finally catching up to him.

_You gonna let me out to play yet? You know I can save our life._

He wasn’t ready to give up control to that side of him and in truth he didn’t want this moment, as fucked up as it was, to end. He was enjoying the way Wilford was toying with him, like he was some kind of play-thing.

With what little strength he had, he kissed Wilford roughly before growling, “Fuck me.”

For a moment, Jack saw an expression on the pink-haired man’s face that he hadn’t seen before, suprise. Then he smiled.

“As you wish, sweetheart.”

Wilford quickly untied Jack’s wrists, knowing he was to weak to fight back and flipped the Irishman onto his stomach.

Jack heard the sound of a zipper being undone, and braced himself on the bed. His face was pressed down into the pillow, his back arched perfectly, almost presenting himself to the older man.

“You’re so beautiful, Jack.” The compliment was so out-of-character for Wilford, that Jack could almost believe it was Mark behind him.

He heard a lid open and glanced back to see Wilford covering his fingers in lube. “We’ve got to get you all ready for my cock, now don’t we?”

Jack closed his eyes in a silent, thankful prayer that he had brought lube. Without warning, Wilford pressed a single finger into Jack’s tight hole and Jack gasped.

“Oh, baby boy, so tight.” He began to work his finger in and out of Jack slowly, while reaching under Jack to pump his cock as well. Jack moaned, arching his back further.

Wilford slowly added another finger, and another, working Jack’s hole until it was ready to take his cock.

“Alright, _lover._ ” He pulled his fingers out of Jack’s hole, and lightly smacked Jack’s ass. “Are you ready?”

Jack could barely speak, pleasure and pain coursing through his body, so instead grunted a presumed ‘Yes.’

A second later, Wilford pressed his cock against Jack’s hole and slipped inside.

“Ah!” Jack cried out, although Wilford had done a considerate job in preparing Jack, he still wasn’t ready for the feeling of being completely filled by Wilford’s cock.

The man immediately began to move, pumping his dick in and out of Jack, moaning as he did. “Fuck, you feel so good. So tight, baby.”

Jack moaned as he adjusted, pain turning to pleasure. He reached under himself and began to jerk his own dick, Wilford own hands gripping his hips tightly.

It didn’t take long for Jack to feel his own climax begin to build. The feeling of being filled almost to much for him.

Wilford’s pace increased dramatically, soon he was pounding into Jack hard, as though unable to control himself. His moans turning guttural and almost animalistic.

Jack’s orgasmed quickly, crying out in pleasure as he covered his bed sheets in warm, sticky cum. Wilford continued to fuck him hard, until he to orgasmed, filling Jack with his own seed.

They both collapsed, Wilford pulling out of Jack with a slick _pop_.

“Oh Jack...Jack...Jack. Why I ever deprived myself of this before, I can not know.” Wilford laid beside Jack, staring at the ceiling. Meanwhile, Jack could barely keep his eyes open.

He’d lost to much blood, the adrenaline and endorphin were quickly subsiding, and he knew that if he didn’t get help soon, he’d die.

When the Irishman didn’t respond, Wilford looked over to see that the younger man was barely breathing.

“Ugh,” Wilford sat up, rolling his eyes. “Weakling.”

He pulled Jack over to him, slapping his face.

“Wake up.”

Jack barely moved, his eyelids fluttering slightly.

“Hey, wake up.” This time, Wilford hit him harder. Jack merely groaned. “Come on, don’t be like that. It was an accident, I swear.”

When the Irishman didn’t respond, Wilford reared his hand back and hit him as hard as he could. The air was still for a moment, everything seemed charged with an invisible energy.

Suddenly, Jack’s eyes opened. Their normal blue replaced by a bright toxic green.

 

_My turn._

  
_Fin._


	2. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little trip into a demented mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know I'm awful. Like the worst. I've been going through a lot of stuff. Moving, serious depression, medical stuff. Unfortunately, that's all affected how much I write. I was feeling a little motivated today, so I wrote this little short chapter to bridge the first and third chapter. I hope you guys can forgive me. You're comments mean the world!

_“Corporeal reality is much more rich and precious than we realize. It feels good to have a body, to surge on currents of emotion, to have nerve endings, mitochondria in our cells, tangible focused energy, the embodiment of light — given a voice.”_

 

How long had it been?

He could barely remember; slipping in and out of consciousness, as though in a drugged sleep.  The darkness that wrapped around him felt heavy; invisible chains, weighing him down. He felt like he could barely breath, yet he knew he wasn’t dead.

Occasionally he’d glimpse something. A knife. A moan. The smell of...something. Sex? Death?

In the beginning, he screamed. He screamed until his voice was raw and he could taste blood in his mouth. Eventually, his screaming turned to silence and from there, to madness.

Until one day, out of the darkness came a voice.   _“Honey, I’m home.”_

Mark blinked. “Who's there?”

 _“I’m insulted,”_ The voice paused. _“You don’t remember me.”_

It wasn’t a question. The voice was correct, Mark didn’t remember him. In fact, Mark didn’t remember much of anything. He’d never been in the dark for so long; he’d lost everything he once was. Now, it was only chains.

“Do I know you?” He asked. “I’m sorry if I’ve meant you before. I just don’t remember much right now. I don’t even know who I am.”

Mark heard a deep sigh before a small light appeared in front of him. It illuminated a small table with two chairs on opposite sides. One chair was ornate, with bright pink quilted fabric on the seat and back cushion. The other was plain, but no less grand. It sat just as tall as its opposite, seemingly made of polished silver. On the table was a plain chess board, each piece already in its place.

He made his way to the silver chair, running his fingertips along the cool metal arms. It was the first time he’d felt something in, what felt like, an eternity. When he sat against the cool metal, he felt on comfort, as though the chair had been made for him by gods.

Across from him, in an instant, another man appeared. It took Mark a moment to recognize himself, if he had pink hair and a comically pink mustache.

“Who are you?” Mark’s voice was small now, tired.

The other one laughed, clapping his hands together. “ _Who are you?_ He asks. As if you don’t know, you coy dog.”

Mark blinked. “I don’t know you, I’m sorry.” 

The other man paused before rubbing his fingers on his chin, clearly thinking. “So it appears.” Another pause. “How about a game?” He gestured to the chess board.

“Why? Will you at least tell me your name?” It had been so long since Mark had someone to talk too. All he wanted was the man’s name. “How do I know you’re not just in my imagination?”

The other man smiled and gestured widely. “Of course I’m just your imagination. However, that does not mean I don’t have a name. My name is Wilford Warfstache, freelance journalist extraordinaire.”

“I see.” Mark stared at the chess board blankly. “I suppose I am crazy then.”

“A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or are the others **crazy**?*” Wilford smiled broadly. “So! How about that game dear? I’ll even sweeten the pot, if you win, I’ll give you back your memories, all of them.”

The temptation was strong but Mark didn’t trust the stranger as far as he could throw him. “And what if you win?”

“We stay here, forever. You and I get to play. It’s not like you’ll remember what you’re missing anyways.”

Mark stared hard into Wilford’s eyes. He knew he couldn’t trust the man but he did believe that this was his only chance to remember who he was.

“You have a deal, Mr. Warfstache.” Mark reached out his hand.

“Please!” Wilford clasped Mark’s hand tightly. “Call me Wilford, Mr. Warfstache was my father.”

“As you wish,” Mark smirked, there was something so familiar about this man but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “Shall we begin?”

Wilford still hadn’t let go of Mark’s hand.

“Absolutely my boy! Absolutely! But first…” Wilford let go and waved his right hand on the side of the table; there was a flicker. What appeared to be a projector screen appeared besides the table. “Whenever you take a piece of mine, I will give you a memory; good or bad, I’ll let you decide. However, whenever I take a piece of yours, well, you get to see one of my memories.”

Mark furrowed his brow, “Why would I want to see one of your memories?”

“I think you’ll find, my boy, they are one and the same.”  Wilford seemed to mime a remote in his hand, turning on the screen to reveal a picture of a man. “Would you like a preview?”

Mark was startled by the man’s face, he felt the man’s name linger on the tip of his tongue. Just when he thought he had it, it was gone. He was trapped in a cycle of uncertainty; something was off about the man. His eyes were wrong. Mark couldn’t explain how he knew this but the eyes were completely wrong.

“Who is that?”

“Oh, him? That little squeeze?” The pink haired devil chuckled. “ _That_ is the love of your life.”

Mark raised his eyebrows, “Really? Him?”

“Were you expecting someone else?” Wilford tapped his fingers against the table. “Yes. _Him_.”

It was then that Mark noticed the hint of jealousy in Wilford’s voice. He turned his attention back to the other man and noticed the look of resentment in his eyes. He looked back to the screen.

“His eyes are wrong. Please take the image down.”

Wilford looked at him surprised but used his invisible remote to remove the man’s face from the screen.

“Shall we begin then?”

Mark ran his thumb over the top of a white pawn, feeling the smooth wood in between his fingers and with a deep breath, he began the game. The image of the man, his “ _true love”_ , still resting in his mind’s eye.

Bright green eyes haunting his every move.

 

 

 

 

 

*Quote by Albert Einstein

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'll try and get to the third chapter, the grand conclusion, soon. Very soon. Will Mark win the chess match? What happened between Jack or should I say, Anti and Wilford? Find out in the next episode of Candy, Gin, and Icecream!!


	3. Gold, Frankincense, Myrrh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, the end is here! Finally! Like a few years later! Anti and Wilford meet at last! It's gory, it's sultry, it might not have been what you expect but ah well!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so it's been a while, hasn't it? So much has happened in my life but I'm finally in a space where I feel comfortable writing again. I figured I would try and finish this story as best I could so that my soul is cleared. Now I can start something new!
> 
> Psst, there may be an epilogue too

It had been three days since Jack knocked Wilford unconscious.

He hadn’t meant to hit the other man so hard, but he was so angry and with Anti’s power coursing through his veins, he couldn’t resist.

When Anti took control, it was as though all of Jack’s grievances, all his sins and sorrows were amplified. Anti seemed to be Jack’s personal demon, immeasurable in power but keenly attune to his emotions.

When It took control, it was all he could do to try and guide his guardian. It rarely worked, so at least he knew they were on the same page about Wilford.

They had spent the last three days healing. Every stab wound, every bite mark, even the soreness from Mark’s cock had been quickly healed.

And while Jack quickly began to panic about Mark’s continued unconscious state, Anti relaxed on the couch.

_Please! PLEASE, just take him to a hospital or SOMETHIN’!_

Anti cocked his head to the side, holding up the T.V remote as he surfed the channels.

“Now you know I’m just as worried as you.” _Click._ “But I just don’t see the need to bring outsiders into this, do you?” _Click._

Jack wished he could snap that remote in half.

_He could be seriously hurt. He hasn’t woken up in THREE FUCKIN DAYS!_

“He’s fine. We were **seriously injured,** and we did just fine, didn’t we? I think you’re fretting over nothing. Plus,” _Click._  “I have big plans for that boy.”

_Click._

 

The air was crisp that evening, cold air caressed Jack’s cheeks. The hairs on his arms raised as goosebumps travelled down his spine. Tears pricked the corners of Jack’s eyes and for a moment he let himself believe that everything was all right.

This was a big night.

Tonight, Anti would wake Mark up.

As he stood on the balcony of Mark’s home, he couldn’t help but marvel at how insane this all was. These alter egos of their _creation_ were real and the world had seemed to stop spinning, as though it were holding its breath.

 It was so eerily still, silently watching and waiting.

Jack wanted to wrap his arms around himself. Sweat began to slowly dampen the back of his neck as his hands trembled. He could do nothing for himself but stand there, being examined by his own environment.

He hated what Anti did to his own body. The way It had infested him, slowly changing the landscape until his own eyes were foreign to him.

Nauseous roared inside of him.  

It was only a second before he was on his hands and knees, vomiting up a black viscous liquid. It pooled below him like a mirror, revealing the black veins climbing up his neck, and the bright glowing green eyes.

It was time.

Anti desired only one thing and nothing would stand in the way of his vengeance. Wilford had treated Jack as though he were a plaything or an animal to be tortured, trapped. Anti didn’t seek retribution out of love for him, merely a sense of ownership over Jack. He had been groomed, praised and, most of all, punished by Wilford. That was a sin above all else.

Anti stood, returning to the dark of the house. It was going to be a very fun evening indeed.

 

Mark’s tongue felt like sandpaper, thick and dry. His eyes seemed to scrap open, crusted over as though he’d been ill.

Dizziness clouded him for a moment and he desperately rolled to the side convinced that he would puke. Everything around him was rolling, his vision swimming.

He clutched at the floor around him and felt sheets bundle up in his grip. Mark could feel the world falling away from so he rolled onto his back once more. He could barely think straight in this state. Coherent thoughts seemed to bubble up for a second before slipping away again.

It all felt so new. As though he hadn’t used his own body in a very long time.

The pain in the back of his throat was unrecognizable to him. Mark knew he needed something, but he didn’t understand what, he couldn’t remember anything.

He closed his eyes. This isn’t what he had wanted.

Something cold pressed against his lips, softly parting them. A soothing liquid ran over his tongue and when it reached his throat, he realized what the pain had been. He was thirsty.

Someone was giving him water.

Mark didn’t want to open his eyes again, for fear of the dizziness. Instead, he reached out his hand and felt for whoever was nurturing him.

A cold hand suddenly grasped his wrist tightly and he yelped in pain.

“Tsk’” The voice sounded familiar. “It’s not time for _that_ , my pet.”

_My pet? Who does he think he is? I swear, you play with a guy once!_

Mark grimaced at the demon in his head, continuing to claw for control. It was all he could remember.

A chess game and his own personal demon.

“Come on now, open your eyes darling.” That voice didn’t sound right. It was guttural, animalistic, and seemed to break up as it spoke to Mark.

He squeezed his eyes tighter, hoping that it would wish away whatever had him in its grasp. He felt trapped like a bug in a web. Held down by his bodies own inabilities.

 “Come _on_!” It yelled and the grip on his wrist tightened.

Mark gasped as his eyes flew open and his back arched off the bed. The hand on his wrist relaxed slightly.

It took a minute for Mark’s eyes to adjust but the second his Jack came into focus, everything came rushing back. Who he had become, what his demon had made him do, and Jack, all of Jack filled his mind. His taste, his smell, the way Jack’s body fit under his own. It sickened him, the way it possessed his mind. He had brutalized Jack in the most disgusting ways but every touch lingered on his fingertips.

As the memories rushed in, it became apparent that something was desperately wrong. Jack’s eyes were a bright, sickly green and black lines appeared to be extending up his neck. A glance at the hand clutching Mark’s wrist revealed long animal-like claws for nails.

Jack appeared to be sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over him until Mark’s vision was filled.

“J-Jack?” Mark’s voice barely rose above a whisper.

The other man blinked in surprise before reeling back in a fit of laughter. “I’m -no, I’m sorry but do I _look_ like Jack?”

Mark laid there wide eyed and stunned. What in the hell was going on? Who was this?

The man-the thing settled back down to look at him seriously, beginning to slowly trace circles on Mark’s wrist.

“My name is…well, too difficult for you. So you may call me Anti.” It began lazily drawing circles on Mark’s hip, lulling him into a sense of comfort. “A few days ago, it seems we met your own alter ego of sorts, a Wilford Warfstache?”

He remembered it all, each second flashing before his mind. Before he could think, Mark nodded slightly.

Anti continued to trace circles on him, it’s gaze soft and sweet. “You remember? How wonderful. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expectin’ you. I thought we’d have more of that piece of shite.”

Mark watched it’s gaze run over his body and felt chills the longer it stared.

“Please…I don’t feel well..” He pleaded with the other man, everything in his body screamed that he was in danger. His primal brain could sense the threat that the other man presented.

_Well, this has been quite a secret our Jackaboy has been keeping from us._

Anti suddenly stopped moving, it seemed to stare at him for an eternity. He felt his grip on reality falling away, and darkness swallowed his vision once more.

_I can take if from here Markimoo._

 

 Anti worked quickly to tie the unconscious man up. It rolled him onto his stomach and then tied Mark’s wrists together.

Pausing for a moment, it admired the curve of Mark’s spine and the gentle but strong silhouette of it’s victim. Anti chuckled to itself as it imagined all the things it wanted to do to Mark.

None of it’s ideas were particularly gentle.

_Stop it. He doesn’t deserve this! Please_

Anti sighed and tilted its head, shrugging.

_Come on, I’ll give you whatever you want an’ I promise that!_

For a moment, it paused to consider that proposition. It resented the way this host had kept it locked away, repressing every urge and resisting all of it’s power.

But before it succumbed, Anti looked down at the body below him.

The pink hair that was nearly faded and the stubble that gave it the strongest urge to reach out, touch his cheeks. The way Mark looked, bound and positioned, consumed the entity. Jack’s own lust for the human had long ago been assimilated by Anti but the appearance of Wilford sparked a much deeper interest.

Anti wanted to understand what Wilford was, but it would also need to punish the man for his slights against it’s host.

It pulled out a switchblade that was hidden in it’s back pocket. Taking it’s time, Anti began to cut off Mark’s clothing; piece by piece. Scraps of jeans and soft cloth from a former t-shirt piled around Mark; Anti was careful not to cut him.

It considered waking him up again or using it’s powers to heal the human but just as it reached a hand out to touch him, his eyes opened.

They were pink.

_No_.

Anti was delighted.

“Good! I’m glad you woke up on your own, I was getting tired of having to do everything for you.” Anti settled it’s hand at the nape of Wilford’s neck, lightly massaging the muscles there.

“Well…” Wilford began, drawing out his words in his usual unique cadence. “I couldn’t let Markimoo have all the fun now, could I?”

It watched as Wilford tried his best to look at it but his position made it nearly impossible.

“Say, why don’t you untie me and we can talk about things? Mono a mono, man to man! What do you say, sweetheart?” He exuded charisma and confidence, even when tied up.

Anti laughed, moving its hand from his neck and slowly trailing it down the man’s back. It watched as goosebumps rose from it’s cold touch. “But we are not men, are we?”

Before Wilford could answer, Anti brought a finger to his mouth, stopping the words from forming.

“Suck.”

He raised an eyebrow and quickly licked the tip of Anti’s finger. “That’s all you’re getting from me.”

Although Wilford’s gall impressed the demon, it was growing impatient. “Suck. This is your only warning.”

“Or what, baby boy?”

The air was still for a moment as Anti regarded him. It was becoming clear that Wilford did not intend to cooperate, like a petulant child trying to escape punishment. Anti sensed that underneath the man’s bravado was a fear of this new unknown.

Without acknowledging its victim, Anti stood and left the room. It knew where the human had stored some of his old props for videos. In, what would have been, a guest bedroom, piles of bins were stacked high. Each filled with recording equipment and props for lets plays and sketch videos.

As it rummaged through each bin, Anti couldn’t suppress the giddy laughter that bubbled when it found it’s prize; a shiny red ball gag.

When it returned to the room, it was surprised to find Wilford still tied up and, on the bed, having made no apparent attempts to escape. The only movement the man had made was to raise up onto his knees with his face still firmly pressed into the pillow, presenting his ass in the air.

“My, my, have you decided to play nice?”

Wilford made no response but instead wiggled his butt tauntingly. Anti rolled its eyes.

“You know, you didn’t play very nice with my Jack.” The wiggling stopped.

“I though Jack and I had a very nice time. I was only doing the best I could, you see. It was an accident, I swear!” His voice was pleading, confidence vanishing by the second.

Anti walked up to him and leaned down to Wilford’s face so that it could look into his eyes. That man might have been a little frightened of Anti but it sensed no remorse in him, no sense of wrongdoing.

“Tsk.” Anti reached up and slowly revealed the ball gag it had been holding. “I think I’ve heard enough of your lies for now.”

Wilford’s eyes went wide but he didn’t fight the demon as it clasped the gag around his mouth.

“Good boy.”

 

Mark couldn’t feel much in his prison, but he could feel the ball gag in his mouth. He had bought it for a livestream as part of silly punishments they had done. He’d never regretted a purchase more. There was a tightness in his lips and a deep desperate need to scream bubbled up from inside himself.

He didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he wanted control again. He wanted to know what was happening to his body and why Jack…no, why Anti was doing this too him. Surely it understood that Mark had lost control of Wilford but any punishment it tried to inflict would only damage him, right?

If it was the only thing he could do, he had to keep fighting for control. Wilford was strong yet not without his own weaknesses and Mark was determined to find them.

 

Wilford could sense Mark clawing at the walls he’d built around the man, but he had bigger things to focus on. Such as the being currently sitting behind him holding a bottle of lube.

He tried to talk to it but the ball gag muffled his voice and caused drool to slowly trail from his mouth as well. In this position, he was completely exposed. He felt raw.

It wasn’t often that Wilford found himself like this, in a precarious position. He had always been the wildcard in Mark’s life, bringing his creator to the brink of insanity several times but never in a way that felt so open. In all honesty, Wilford was excited by this new creature and terrified of it. It was surrounded by an almost imperceptible crackling dark energy that intrigued him to no end.

He felt that if Anti desired too, it could have killed him instantly.

Wilford was drawn out of his thoughts by the cold sensation of Anti slipping a finger into him. As soon as it started to finger him gently though, he melted into a pool of moans. It had been too long since someone had touched him like this. Since he had lost all control.

Not before long, however, Wilford began to fidget. Anti was moving agonizingly slow, still only using a finger on him and Wilford desperately wanted so much more. He pushed his hips back into Anti, hoping to communicate how needy he was.

The being laughed.

“I didn’t realize you’d be such a slut for me.”

It pulled out it’s finger and began to lightly massage Wilford’s balls, he shuddered in response. He was so sensitive, and his cock was already fully erect, yearning to be touched.

 Wilford moaned as he felt Anti’s tongue lightly press into his balls before gently sucking them into it’s mouth entirely. He felt as though he may explode from the building tension but all he could do was moan and arch his back wantonly.

Time seemed to pass incrementally until it felt like eons had gone by before Anti slipped another finger inside him again. He had long ago realized just what the other entity was doing to him, bringing him slowly to the edge over and over before denying him any release. It was almost enough to break him.

Drool has seeped into the pillowcase, leaving a growing wet spot while Anti continued to finger him. Finally slipping another finger into his tight asshole and then another, stretching Wilford steadily.

“Are you ready to be fucked _pet_?” There was malice in its voice but excitement too.

Wilford nodded and wiggled his butt again, putting on a show for it. He even pushed the demon a little by raising an eyebrow and winking. It only chuckled in response.

“I must admit, you do look very…enticing tied up like this. Blushing, sweating, and,” It paused, leaning forward to look closer at his face. “my, my, drooling? You’re such a messy slut.”

Wilford’s cock strained, every word turning him on more and more. He moaned for Anti, desperate for its cock, desperate to be fucked.

Anti pulled away again to undo the jeans it had on. It took its time getting undressed, teasing the human more and more.

Finally, Wilford felt its cock press up against his asshole, covered in lube. Anti did not ask if he was ready, instead thrusting forward and filling him up completely with little warning.

Wilford screamed into his gag.

_You deserve this._

The man ignored his inner voice.

He’d expected the demon to continue with its slow torture ritual but Anti continued to fuck Wilford hard and fast.

It leaned forward and whispered into his ear, “Did you think this would be pleasurable for yah?”

The strong Irish accent was even thicker, making Anti’s words more palpable. Wilford felt tears begin to fall down his cheeks, the unending pressure in his cock and being completely filled by Anti was too much for him.

His body arched deeply beneath Jack as he came onto the bedding. Thick streaks of cum decorating the sheets and his own stomach.

Anti laughed again. “You’re pathetic! I didn’t even have to touch your cock and you cum just from being fucked? You’re weak, my pet. You didn’t even ask to cum.”

It punctuated each sentence with another thrust, leaving Wilford spent with each movement.

“You’ll need a harsher punishment for that.” He suddenly felt the cold touch of metal on his lower back.

A knife, Wilford would know one anywhere.

With a final thrust, he felt Anti cum deep in his asshole but just as he began to think things might be finished, the blade sunk several inches into his back.

Wilford didn’t know what to do with the pain. Screaming into the gag only produced a soft, muffled sound that barely satisfied the anguish he felt. Wilford could feel himself weakening, unprepared for staying in control and healing the wound in his back.

He looked back at Anti one last time, watched the demon pull out of him. His cock sliding out of Wilford following by a trail of cum.

“You’re a decent fuck, I’ll give you that.” It quickly pulled the knife out of Wilford’s back. “Don’t fuck with Jack anymore, he deserves better torture than what you provide and anyways, you’re my bitch now.”

Anti brought the knife down again into Wilford before beginning to carve something onto the humans back.

Wilford didn’t know what it said, he didn’t care.

He passed out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So should I write a sequel? Let me know!


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